


Anecdotally

by Elfpen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, Humor, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfpen/pseuds/Elfpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The biggest stories are always made up of smaller ones. Here are some of the forgotten moments in the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Will feature a wide variety of genres, characters, eras, and AUs. Oneshots from whenever inspiration strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sabers and Masters

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate/extended ending to s5e9 of the Clone Wars.

Hondo Ohnaka was an… interesting person to deal with. In all likelihood, the weequay pirate could be surrounded by the soul-eating fires of the nine hells, and he'd still be haggling a deal. Doomed to fail, of course, but spirited to the last distractible, inebriated brain cell.

Hondo's attempt to 'hijack' the Jedi Star Destroyer was most aptly described by the security detail who'd commented snidely over the security holos: "well _this_ is one to tell the shinies." Humorous as the story would doubtless be in future, in the here and now, Hondo was a convenient but periphery concern. The ship's presiding General had far more to be concerned about, and, thank the Force, far more to be _relieved_ about.

"Ahsoka," Obi-Wan could not disguise the pure relief he felt. The togruta turned and smiled at him. He realized quietly that she had been growing up behind his back. She was taller now, wiser. The top of her montrals made her almost as tall as him. He had no doubt she would dwarf him, one day.

"It is good to see you too, Master," She said with a soft, tired smile. She looked back to her small herd of younglings, and Obi-Wan followed suit. Oh, he felt even older, now. First Anakin, and now Ahsoka, and one day, these little ones, too. His chest felt full and he smiled, despite how acutely he felt the crowsfeet at his eyes when he did.

"You have all done very well, and survived what few of your age could. You have my congratulations." The younglings all smiled proudly at him; the human boy, Petro, beamed the widest. Obi-Wan recognized the look of hero-worship and felt embarrassed. He hadn't even _done_ anything today. He turned his gaze back toward Ahsoka and opened his mouth to speak, but someone - some _thing_ else, strictly speaking - beat him to it.

"Well, well, well," said an age-old voice, an unparalleled level of expression for such an old droid voice processor. "If it isn't Obi-Wan Kenobi,"

Obi-Wan was smiling as he turned "Professor Huyang," He smiled, "It's good to see you, old friend - and in one piece, too, which I understand is a recent development."

The younglings around them laughed. "Indeed," Huyang chuckled, and patted the Nautolan youngling on the head appreciatively. He looked back to Kenobi. "And you – I thought I must've shorted a circuit when they tried to tell me _you_ were Obi-Wan Kenobi. Last I saw you, you were a beanpole of a boy, sniffling and covered in icicles, trying to tell _me_ how to build a lightsaber."

Obi-Wan's jaw stiffened in embarrassment as the younglings laughed – and Ahsoka, too, who looked at her grandmaster with a surprised, wicked smile.

"I'm surprised you remember that," Obi-Wan muttered dryly.

"You're not one to leave a forgetful impression, young Kenobi."

And that made the younglings giggle even more, because none of them could imaginecalling Master Kenobi by anything other than his title, much less calling him _young._ Through disciplined use of the Force, Obi-Wan avoided blushing.

"Yes, well, you know how initiates can be," the master replied evenly, eyeing the amused younglings with a steely gaze. The beard enhanced the effort. Huyang remained unaffected. Obi-Wan took a very dignified stride forward and they began walking down the long hanger, headed for the cabins where the younglings would stay until they could return to the Temple. Much to Obi-Wan's chagrin, Huyang did not take this as a cue to drop the conversation.

"I do, more than you ever will," the droid quipped. "I must say, I've not left the _Crucible_ for so long, it's been quite some time since I've seen a true Jedi Knight at work."

"But General Kenobi is a Jedi _Master_ ," Petro told Huyang in a serious tone. Obi-Wan lifted his eyes subtly upward, feeling equal parts flattered and embarrassed. Oh good, a defender. Force forbid his _honor_ be tainted. He eyed Petro. This one had much to learn.

" _Master_ Kenobi, oh yes, of course, of course… Skywalker, yes, I recall…" Huyang rambled, tone growing fond. "You all grow up so quickly." A pause, and the droid glanced at Obi-Wan's belt. "And I see you've built a new lightsaber since we last met – what was wrong with the one I helped you make?" Not all droids were sentimental, but this one was over one thousand years old. He was allowed.

"Nothing at all, professor. It served me well for many years, but I'm afraid I lost it."

"Lost it!" Huyang was affronted. "You _would,_ wouldn't you?" He chuckled amusedly. "And what trouble did you cause to allow for such a tragedy?"

Ahsoka tried to send the droid a warning glance, but he was gazing at Kenobi. Obi-Wan maintained a steady expression, neither step nor voice faltering as they walked.

"It was the last mission of my apprenticeship," he said calmly, "to Naboo."

Huyang's memory circuits whirred with all the reports he'd received over the years. His step checked itself for a short beat. "Oh," he said, and the incorrigible droid's sudden hesitation gave the younglings, pause, too. They exchanged nervous glances. They had all been born years after The Mission to Naboo, but there wasn't a jedi alive who didn't know about what had transpired there, especially in regards to Obi-Wan Kenobi. They all wished very much to become invisible. Obi-Wan was more than happy to play along with the silent illusion. "I see," said the droid at length. "I… was very upset to have received that report," it was a quiet apology. Obi-Wan nodded.

"It is in the past. Your instruction served me well when I constructed a new one," Obi-Wan assured. Forgiveness granted, Huyang peered curiously at the saber that swung on the Jedi's belt.

"May I…?"

Obi-Wan smiled and handed his weapon to the droid, who turned it over in expert hands.

"Magnificent! Your classic tastes have not left you, I see. Plain, light. Elegant in simplicity, Master Kenobi. I am impressed. But…" the droid paused. "This saber is not as old as Naboo. You waited to create a replacement?"

Obi-Wan let out a steadying breath and lowered his voice, still keeping his expression serene. "I carried my master's, for a few years."

"Ah," Huyang nodded, not as surprised now but treading carefully. "That was a fine saber, I remember it." He glanced at Obi-Wan, unable to gauge the Jedi's emotions. But still, perhaps he would like to know… "Qui-Gon was the quietest boy of his class, the most aloof, too." This mental image made Obi-Wan smile. "He was the first to finish his saber, and the very last to want to fight with it."

"Really?" Obi-Wan's boyish curiosity broke through his diplomat's mask. "That doesn't sound like him."

"Well, it must be said that at the time, he'd adopted an ailing ice-bush from Ilum and was working very hard to keep it alive for the journey back."

Aha. Obi-Wan's face dimpled. "Yes, now that, that sounds exactly like him," Obi-Wan chuckled. No one else did, because they'd never known his master. It made him sad, but he chose to dwell in his own fond memories. "I'm sure you know, he became a formidable fighter."

"I've heard. Makashi, like his master?"

"Ataru, actually."

The droid laughed. "Good for him. And you?"

"Ataru was my focus, until…" Obi-Wan's face resumed its placid façade, but he had to swallow a bit thickly. "I have taken up Soresu ever since Naboo."

Huyang nodded proudly. "And in so doing, have joined the ranks of Masters Yoda and Windu, or so I hear." Impressed murmuring from the younglings. He returned Obi-Wan's saber to him, and the Jedi nodded gratefully, replacing it on his belt. "It is right that your master's saber should help teach you a new form when he could not."

The unexpected wisdom made Obi-Wan choke just a bit, and he nodded. Huyang lightened the mood. "Assuming it _was_ the lightsaber I helped him make, I'm sure it served you well. Though for all I know, he could've been making copies all that time. The man knew how to find trouble, that's for sure. Poor saber never saw it coming."

"Oh, it had its fair share of scrapes," Obi-Wan chuckled, remembering the many, many times when that saber (and his, more often than not) had brushed with extinction. "But I assure you it's the very same. I still have it, actually," Obi-Wan said, somewhat wistfully. A few paces ahead and unavoidably eavesdropping, Ahsoka cast him a curious look. It was completely against custom to keep the lightsaber of a fallen Jedi. Obi-Wan met her eyes and was vindicated, but not quite surprised, to see respect rather than condemnation. "I haven't had need to use it in years."

"Too old school for you?" Huyang chuckled. Obi-Wan shook his head.

"On the contrary, it's a beautiful weapon. But… well, green was always Qui-Gon's color, wasn't it?" He shrugged. The answer was far deeper than that, of course, and he and Huyang knew this. But they'd already delved too deep in the company of younglings. Their conversation tapered off into niceties and soon, the droid bid them goodbye. Obi-Wan stepped forward to walk alongside Ahsoka, leading their half-pint troops onward toward the temporary barracks. Commander Cody was waiting for them.

"Sir," he saluted Obi-Wan, helmet under arm. "Padawan Tano. Younglings." He smiled nervously, and Obi-Wan's dimples betrayed his amusement. He'd forgotten how uncomfortable the clones could be around children. He stepped in.

"Young ones, this is Commander Cody. He will be your contact for the duration of this trip, though I do not anticipate any trouble. I'd say we've had quite enough for one day." Tired nods of agreement. "Once we enter Coruscant's system, he will fly you the rest of the way to the temple, where Padawan Tano and Professor Huyang will oversee your debriefing – Master Yoda is looking forward to hearing of your adventures." That brought some smiles, and Obi-Wan was not immune to the childlike enthusiasm. Petro, however, was crestfallen.

"But… you aren't coming with us, Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I have duties here. General Grievous' victory on Florrum means another step forward for the Separatists, and I need to remain here with my men and regroup for our next engagement." It was a calm and decisive blow, but it still made Obi-Wan feel bad. Damn, he was going soft in his age.

Then again, Obi-Wan realized, he'd probably always been soft. Overlooking Petro's deepening frown he said, "All of you should get some rest." He nodded at Cody and the Commander took his leave.

As if finally released from invisible bonds, the younglings found their beds and collapsed in record time. Gungi was snoring almost before his head hit the mat. Petro hung back, and damnit… Obi-Wan knew from personal experience that male human adolescents could make some of the most difficult, irrational, _handfuls_ of jedi initiates in the galaxy, but they could also produce the most pathetic, akk puppy faces that demanded he _do something._

"Petro," He said, having not planned to. The initiate turned, inordinately hopeful. "You did well on Florrum. Dedicate as much attention to your studies at the Temple, and you will make a great Jedi knight someday."

It wasn't _exactly_ what Petro had hoped to hear, but he smiled widely at the praise. "Great enough to face you in a duel?" He asked, hopeful. Obi-Wan smiled, eyebrows shooting up at the impertinence. It reminded him of Qui-Gon, of Anakin. How did he attract these people?

"Perhaps," he said, mustache unable to hide all of his grin. He glanced down at the boy's belt and pointed at the newly constructed saber there, still a touch too big for Petro's hands, a testament to what he might one day become. "Don't lose it," He warned. With Obi-Wan's earlier confessions fresh in mind, Petro nodded solemnly.

"I won't, Master."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Good. Now get some rest. Master Yoda doesn't abide his dueling partners to show up to the dojo _yawning_."

Petro's look of sheer horror was enough to keep Obi-Wan's spirits up for the rest of the day. "Perhaps when he is done with you, you _might_ be ready to face me."

Petro's horror grew at the irreverence. General Kenobi, _The_ General Kenobi _,_ was smack talking Grandmaster Yoda'sfighting ability. Grandmaster _Yoda_. It was too much for his young mind to compute, and he could naught but stare, mouth gaping in shock. Obi-Wan laughed.

"May the Force be with you," he said lightheartedly, and added with a wicked grin, "you're going to need it." He dimmed the lights on his way out, leaving Petro standing wide-mouthed in the dark. He chuckled all the way to the bridge.

Oh, how wonderful the mind of a child was.


	2. A Hair Affair

"Obi-Wan." It was a warning.

"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan ground out through clenched teeth. His wrist strained against the handle of the hairbrush, and he felt as though if he pulled any harder, something would tear; whether that would be the brush's handle or Qui-Gon's hair, he could not say. He relinquished his hold and sighed in frustration.

"What is their spit made out of? Duracrete?" Obi-Wan smeared more of the strong-smelling soap across the mat in his master's hair. Where his apprentice couldn't see, Qui-Gon allowed himself a grimace at the stench.

"So it would seem," He said with uncharacteristic bile.

They were _supposed_ to be on a quiet, relaxing diplomatic mission. They'd spent the last year and a half entrenched in messy squabbles and half-wars across the galaxy, trudged through shallow hell and back and suffered more than one long stint in the healer's wing. Even the council had begun to take pity on them. So here they were on a nice cushy mission; a peaceful day-long trip to an outer core world, followed by would be a short half-week mission overseeing the annual senatorial summit. The jedi's presence here was a decoration more than anything else, a matter of ceremony. They gave advice when prompted and protection only from the too-terse replies of other politicians.

However, in the fashion that only the Jinn/Kenobi team could manage, they ended up finding trouble anyway. Their host world was a terrestrial, green planet, bursting with life. The local culture embraced their surroundings, leaving even their centers of state to be framed by dense foliage. Some of it had been tilled into old and magnificent gardens. And yet, even in these carefully trimmed expanses, nature remained untamed.

It was Qui-Gon's heaven. Unfortunately for him, Heaven didn't much like him back. He had acted as any responsible Jedi should've when he dove to save the senator's toddler son from falling into a ground wasp's nest, but unfortunately even with the Force on his side, catching the boy had sent _him_ into the clay-like mound.

And here he was: sitting cross-legged on the floor of the 'fresher, swollen, burning hands smeared with bacta and bandages, a towel about his bare shoulders, his apprentice cursing creatively at the half-dried wasp mud stuck in his hair. He should've been reprimanding Obi-Wan for his strong application of the Huttese language, but he found he couldn't fault the boy. Two and half hours they'd been here, and there still appeared to be a rock growing out of Qui-Gon's head.

The dust and and soap-covered pebbles of clay on the floor around him told Qui-Gon that they had made _some_ progress, but it was slow going. As he had the thought, a new strand of hair fell into his face, freed from its clay bonds. Carefully, Obi-Wan poured more water on him, careful to direct it away from his eyes. A drop or two found their way there anyway, and Qui-Gon wiped his brow.

"Sorry, Master."

A few more chunks of clay bumped off his shoulders, and Qui-Gon made the mistake of entertaining hope. Obi-Wan groaned softly.

"This is ridiculous," the padawan accused, and Qui-Gon suddenly had a mental image of Obi-Wan taking a hammer and chisel to his master's head. He turned his eyes toward his apprentice. Obi-Wan's imaginings, no doubt.

"It can't be that bad yet. You've made progress." He brushed some clay off his knee with a sticky, bacta-red hand.

"I've been having to use the force to pull this brush through it."

"I see," Qui-Gon didn't see, but he did feel. He winced. Obi-Wan continued to exude a steady frustration for several quiet minutes. "And what do you suggest we do, padawan mine?"

Obi-Wan, who had been kneeling on the hard floor and holding his arms up to work for nearly three hours, fidgeted uncomfortably before letting his arms slap against his sides in resignation. "There's nothing for it. We'll have to chop it off."

Qui-Gon turned his head and glared. "You're _not_ cutting my hair, my very _junior_ apprentice."

Obi-Wan had meant it as a jest, but the annoyance in his look was real. "Master, it's like _stone_. I've used most of the soap we have and it's hardly half gone."

Only half? Really? "Well then I suggest you be more judicious with the rest, Padawan." Which sent a flare of anger through the Force. Still, Obi-Wan obediently went back to his work, brushing and chipping and scrubbing. Qui-Gon willed himself to go into something like a meditation, ignoring the painful pulls and tugs.

Obi-Wan's anger faded after a while, now resigned to the rest of his task. After a while, though, a smile began to creep onto his face. Qui-Gon sensed it.

"Something funny?"

"Well, no, just…" Obi-Wan leaned back momentarily to shake out his hands chip clay from underneath his fingernails. "What _would_ you look like with short hair?"

"I don't care to find out." Qui-Gon warned him without opening his eyes.

"I know, I just… wondered. Hmm." Obi-Wan gathered Qui-Gon's wet locks into a ball and held it up off his neck. He squinted, imagining.

"Obi-Wan," another warning. The apprentice let the hair fall down.

"You wouldn't look bad, master," he meant it. "You just… wouldn't look…"

"Good?" Qui-Gon asked with a small smirk.

"Like you," Obi-Wan clarified, brushing. After a few strokes, "Have you ever had short hair, master?"

"When I was your age, perhaps."

"Ah." That made sense. The padawan cut was a notoriously unflattering but unilaterally accepted cut amongst male, human jedi. "So did you… just… never cut it after you were knighted?" It was meant to be a joke.

"That is precisely what I did, padawan," Qui-Gon responded, taking amusement out of Obi-Wan's embarrassed surprise.

"Oh." Brush, brush. Clay fell down like a rock slide.

"How's it going?"

"Against all precedent of the day, _well,_ actually." A few more brushes, not quite as painful as they had been. "You may be able to scrub the rest out yourself," Obi-Wan said, rubbing forgivingly soluble clay remnants between thumb and forefinger. When he pulled back and began wiping his hands, Qui-Gon stood and looked into the mirror and at the clay-dusted floor.

"Well done. Thank you, padawan."

Obi-Wan only nodded, picking up what parts of the mess he could. He stood and washed his hands.

"Perhaps _you_ will let your hair grow long when you're knighted," Qui-Gon said, straight faced. Obi-Wan barked a laugh.

"I will _not_ ," he said. "This thing is ridiculous," he turned his head to see his own nerf tail in the mirror.

"Hmm," Qui-Gon hummed pensively. He reached out with his less-injured hand and took hold of the leather tie securing the tuft of hair. Without ceremony, he yanked, and Obi-Wan suddenly had half-long hair.

"Hey!" the younger Jedi protested. He _hated_ the padawan style; he only took it down when he needed to wash it. Qui-Gon ignored his irritation and combed down the crimped locks with his fingers.

"You see?" He glanced at Obi-Wan's annoyed, mulleted reflection. "You look more like me already."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan played along, and squinted at his reflection and his master's. "I'm no where near grey enough," he declared. Qui-Gon quirked a dangerous eyebrow. Obi-Wan was immune. "Wait a moment," the younger brought his padawan braid – now long enough to reach across his face – and wore it on his upper lip like a mustache. He frowned into the mirror and made his voice lower than normal. "Here and now, Living Force, the Council's opinion is bullocks," his voice normalized. "I think you're on to something, master."

" _Obi-Wan._ "

Obi-Wan dissolved into laughter, his mustache falling back to its place on his right shoulder. Qui-Gon yanked on it fairly hard.

"Ow," the apprentice said, smiling. Qui-Gon shoved the hair tie into Obi-Wan's hand.

"You'll be cooking for a month for that stunt, you brat," He pushed Obi-Wan out of the 'fresher, pinching the back of his neck. Obi-Wan hunched out of the grip and smiled that smug, dimpled grin as he looked at Qui-Gon's hands. "I thought I'd be stuck doing that already," he said. Qui-Gon drew himself up, mustering dignity despite his matted, soaking hair, shirtless chest, and half-bandaged hands.

"Cooking, cleaning, _and_ meditating on your impertinence all the way back to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan scowled, but accepted the punishment with an obedient bow. The look on Qui-Gon's face had been worth his 'impertinence'. "And what will be the subject of such a long meditation, oh my master?"

He expected some suitably Jedi rite of contrition, but what he got was a cheeky "The exact nature of your post-graduation haircut, my very vain apprentice." Obi-Wan must've looked suitably surprised, because Qui-Gon smiled. The elder waved at the kitchen.

"Now go make tea. I need to wash up before the dinner tonight. And please re-tie your hair, Obi-Wan. You look ridiculous."

Making a face at the closed 'fresher door, Obi-Wan retied his nerf tail and skulked over toward the kettle. Please. Like he'd ever wear a _mullet_. The Sith Lords themselves would have to return before _that_ would happen.

Obi-Wan shook his head sourly and went about preparing their tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I wasn't going to post this, but then it got to be over 1000 words and I figured what the heck.
> 
> This is based, very, very loosely on some ideas put forward in Ruth Baulding (a.k.a. Her Royal Majesty Queen of the AU)'s fic 'Homecoming'. Namely, the idea that Obi-Wan expressed (heretical) belief that those fallen to the Dark Side could be brought back to the Light. This fic is a slightly more canon compliant take on Obi-Wan's belief, a sort of stream-of-consciousness from Qui-Gon's perspective in the afterlife.

I've always been the rebel. That's no secret. Some say the only reason why I was never elected to the council was because I defied their edicts just before every vote. I know of multiple masters who've taught their padawans how _not_ to be by using my fine example. It's been a motif in my life since even before I took my oath.

I never wished to stir up trouble, no matter what the others tell you. My aim was always to honor my loyalty to the Force and the Force alone. I was never perfect at it, I was wrong more than once. Even when I wasn't, the council could get in the way. They only tolerated me because, whether or not they would admit it, oftentimes I ended up being right. I take no personal pride in this; I did not _want_ to be a rebel. I only wanted to do what was right, and so ended up rebelling from time to time.

But the reputation is the the thing. A rebel. A maverick. Takes orders from himself and the Force and no one else. Talks back to anyone - and maybe that's true. I flirted with heresy when I began seeking the Order of the Whills behind the council's back, behind my apprentice's back. I was written off as a dreamer when I dared to believe in prophecy… and maybe there was something to that, too. But I do not regret it. I cannot forsake the guidance of the Force anymore in death than I did in life. And here stand, the great rebel of the Order, watching from the other side. There is little that I miss these days - oh, I don't see _everything_ , that is far outside of my purview. But I see so much more, now, and so much more _clearly_ than I ever did in life. I see my legacy and my choices thrown in stark contrast, no longer fogged by the problems I faced. I do not regret anything, but I understand my mistakes. I see others clearly, hear and comprehend them in a deeper light than before. I can communicate with some who are still alive, those willing to listen. Master Yoda is one. I've been counseling him on the teachings of the Whills, and he has been surprisingly receptive to my teaching considering how he chastised my unorthodoxy in life. Perhaps dark times change one's perspective. Even so, many of my insights I doubt even master Yoda would believe, and this pressing truth is among them:

Obi-Wan is a fiercer rebel than I ever was.

I don't think he knows this. I don't think the council knows this - hell, he's one of their core members, nowadays. He is the face of Jedi propriety, of a life lived by the Code, and yes, of wisdom. He is shrewd, and reserved, and the sharpest wit among them. He is quick to understand, and can reserve judgement well. He is intuitive. And he is dedicated heart, mind, and soul, to the service of the light, as all Jedi should be. But Obi-Wan takes this calling to a level that even I once found elusive. It is the light itself that festers seeds of rebellion in him. The same light that drove him to memorize every line of the code, to know every obscure tradition and wisdom written of old, to take every letter of every precept and brand it into his mind with irrational conviction - that is the light that now calls him to rebel.

Obi-Wan is not a lazy rebel like me, who never actually bothered to learn _all_ of the code and its intricacies, who ignored a great deal of orthodox wisdom so that I might follow the Living Force wherever it may lead. Obi-Wan is perfectly versed in his sacrilege; he knows the code and all of its branches of wisdom better than he knows himself. He knows all that the Jedi have ever taught and written. He doesn't just know the Code; he's _lived_ the code his entire life, striving for the perfection and enlightenment of which the old masters write. He knows what it is to be the leaner, the knight, the diplomat, the warrior, the peacekeeper, the dispenser of justice and hard truths. He knows what it is to teach, to be wrong, to be right, to be humbled. He has grappled the snapping maw of darkness more times that I could have ever withstood, and has each time emerged luminescent. Above all other Jedi, perhaps even Master Yoda (if that is heresy, so be it), Obi-Wan understands all Jedi teachings, and what they mean at their heart, not merely what we jedi wish them to mean.

He is a true master.

And more than a mere master, a _true_ master knows his craft well enough to know exactly where the faults lie. He takes an about face and brandishes his knife against his own masterpiece to gouge out the rot that others cannot see. When Obi-Wan took up his intellectual knife to strike against his once-dear convictions, the whole temple went into shock, and rightly so. I see now that Obi-Wan's unwavering devotion to the code (which I found so irksome during his apprenticeship) has always been for the best, for only a lifetime of righteous rule-following could have spared him from expulsion when he had the audacity to point that particular flaw in our ancient Order. The thought makes me laugh. He never was one to do things by halves.

Oh, I can only imagine what Padawan Kenobi's reaction would've been had I been able to tell him that one day, he would profess and defend one of the greatest heresies of our Order. If only I had been able to tell him that he would, under my posthumous tutelage, be initiated into a forbidden sect of faith dismissed for centuries. If only I could tell him, if only he could _imagine_ the moment when he would tell Master Yoda, to his face, in front of Mace Windu, that he was unequivocally _wrong._ Oh, if only I could've told him that he would be called mad, one day, the maddest of them all because he dared to entertain hope in the Force, in the Light.

I know it's better that he didn't know, of course. But the irony makes the Force itself laugh, and me too: my apprentice, straight laced and to the book, the last great heretic of our age. For it is heresy, or so they say, to believe that one fallen to the Dark can be redeemed back to the Light. And in his (unspoken) response to this great teaching of Master Yoda, Obi-Wan has so summarized my own sentiments: _what a load of steaming bantha chizzk._

I do still believe that Anakin is the Chosen One. But I see now that he was chosen by the Dark. And perhaps he will yet bring balance, perhaps the dark will become, if not light, light _er._ This is one of the last great mysteries left to me, and I cannot say for certain what will become of Anakin. But Obi-Wan believes there is hope. Whether in Luke, or in the Rebellion, or even, sometimes, in Anakin, Obi-Wan always believes there is hope. It is unnatural, indestructible, how that boy carries on hoping as he does. It is one reason among many why I've concluded that if Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One of the Dark, then surely, Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Chosen One of the Light.

So perhaps I read the prophecies wrong. Perhaps it was never Anakin alone, but two together who were meant to bring balance to the Force. Or perhaps it has been Obi-Wan all along, and I was too blind to see it. Looking at him now, I would not be entirely surprised. He is a beacon in the Force. He does not know this. Others sometimes sense it. Ahsoka Tano told him so, once, but he was too baffled to believe her. It is so like him. Master Yoda's light in the Force is the steadiest, the oldest and wisest. But Obi-Wan's is the brightest by far, and it has been always. I hadn't seen that in life. I don't think any living being can. I only understand it now, on the other side of the curtain.

But perhaps that is the way of the Light: blinding, terrifying hope, shrouded in orthodoxy and heresy alike, carrying on hope humbly where no one will see. There it will stay, safe with my old apprentice (though I think he could be _my_ master, now) kept alive by an unbreakable stubborn will. Obi-Wan, the heretic. Chosen One of the Light. Patriarch and unapologetic rebel.

My own rebel-with-a-cause heart is fit to burst with pride. Well done, padawan.


	4. Mastery

The dojo observation balcony was packed to capacity, masters and padawans pressed shoulder to shoulder, younger initiates jumping up on tip-toe and crawling through forests of legs to get a better view by the railing. No one dared try and spectate from the dojo floor itself. Whether this collective decision was made out of respect or sense of self-preservation, no one could say.

None of them had known about the duel until about an hour ago, when the fight had begun. But whether by word of mouth or sense in the Force, Jedi from all over the Temple, from initiates to High Councilors, had trickled in to watch. The exhibition did not disappoint.

It was a rare thing to see such a fight take place in the hallowed Temple - a real _fight._ These two duelists had been paired before, years past. Back then, it had been a manner of instruction; everyone knew who the _true_ master was then - the same one they assumed to be the Master now. But time had worn thin the laws of seniority, and as the duel dragged on, it became more and more apparent that these two were too evenly matched. Now it was a dirty, knock-down, drag-out fight. Kicks to the gut. Punches, even. Bloody noses. The younger spectators' eyes grew wide when the duelists' sabers left scorching holes in the dojo floor. These were not the low-power training sabers used for safely proctored spars - these blades were set only one step below lethality.

The combatants were dripping with sweat by the end, and the younger was sure to need new tabards to replace his bloodstained set. On the side of seniority, grunts and powerful yells accentuated each strike, precision and power behind every movement. But his younger opponent absorbed each onslaught with hardly making a sound. Indeed, the longer the fight wore on, the quieter he became, drawing inward, inward, inward, until there was nothing left of himself except a defense so pure and so perfect that the thickest of textbooks could not have captured its simplicity.

Every master in the room sensed it when defeat arose on the horizon. Some raised their hands to their mouths, because _surely_ not... As one, the crowd leaned forward, pressing on the balcony edge to watch history unfold.

The finale was a blur of light. One padawan, who had been mouthing the names of maneuvers as she identified them, was reduced to staring gape-mouthed and speechless at the unimaginable speed. Strikes and parries and counterstrikes of various forms fell in such rapid succession that even Master Drallig, standing at the front of the crowd, leaned forward in taught anticipation.

With a fierce battlecry, the revered master made a leaping sai tok strike against his opponent, power roaring forward like a tsunami.

Before the wave could land, however, his opponent's defensive gates swung open and he charged forward on opportunity. Sidestep, parry, twist, kick, flip, flick. A lightsaber skittered on the dojo floor for less than a second before it reignited in the hand of the victor, purple joining blue in a masterful Soresu Jar'Kai salute. The defeated raised his head from the ground and found that two lightsabers, one of them his own, now rested centimeters from his throat.

The hall was silent. The sabers hummed. The duelists caught their breath. The victor looked just as astonished as his opponent.

"Solah," said the latter from the ground. The victor wasted no time in disengaging his blades and returning the second to its rightful owner.

Master of the Jedi Order Mace Windu took his weapon and replaced it at his belt. Then, with a long look that rang with purest respect, he bowed very, very deeply at the waist. A few padawans gasped quietly at the breach in unspoken code of conduct. When he straightened, Mace was smiling, just barely.

It took a full three seconds for a dumbstruck Obi-Wan Kenobi to bow back, hopefully just as deeply, but he could not tell for his shock. It must've showed on his face, because when he looked back up, Master Windu's smirk grew.

Self consciously, Obi-Wan glanced at the massive crowd watching from above. He had not heard them come in. His eye caught on the face of Master Cin Drallig, who had taught Obi-Wan to hold a saber from childhood. The revered swordsman was watching his old pupil now with his mouth hanging open. It closed with a snap and he smiled, slightly, and bowed his head. Obi-Wan's face, already pink from exertion, turned a brighter red against his ginger hair.

Mace Windu let out a breathy chuckle, still breathing heavily. He stepped forward and grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder in a firm hand. "Thank you for the lesson, Master Kenobi," it was a moment of paradigm surrealism. "I've not had the pleasure in quite some time," Master Yoda had withdrawn from dueling years ago on excuse of his age, went the unspoken reasoning, "and I am in your debt."

Faced with such an unprecedented compliment, Obi-Wan grasped at deference. "As I am to you," He added, stepping outside of convention. Mace raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. They two stepped forward, and bowed to each other again, now in unison.

Applause was something conventionally frowned upon in Jedi philosophy, especially within the temple, and especially for personal praise. But starting with Cin Drallig, applause swept through the senior dojo like a sudden rainshower. Obi-Wan looked up, taken aback, and was struck even more sheepish by the looks of hero-worship on the faces of more than one padawan and youngling.

Oh, Anakin was going to give him _hell_ for accepting a challenge from Master Windu while he was off planet.

The spectators filtered out slowly, padawans chattering excitedly with their masters _._

"How did he do that?"

"Could _you_ beat Master Kenobi, master?"

"I think I want to learn some Soresu."

"But is he _allowed_ to beat Master Windu, master?"

"Does this mean that Mathter Ob'-Wan gets to be Mathter of the Order?" asked a small, gap-toothed human.

"No, don't be silly."

"I think I'll grow a beard when I'm older, master."

"Can I learn to use two blades, master?"

"That was so _wizard_." Good to see Anakin's vocabulary corrupting the younger generations.

Obi-Wan ignored the comments and wild thoughts as best he could. He sat on a low bench afforded in one corner of the dojo, having deferred a respectful head start in the showers to Mace. He sat alone in the empty hall, wiping blood and sweat off his face with a ruined tabard.

"Quite a show, Master Kenobi," Cin Drallig approached, smiling. He was smaller than Obi-Wan remembered him being, and more wrinkled.

"Master Drallig," he bowed from his seat. "I learn only what I am taught by my betters, master."

This made the older man laugh. "Your silver tongue is as sharp as ever. I forget they call you _the Negotiator_ these days. You're a credit to us all, Obi-Wan." Coming from the man who used to wipe the dojo clean with him, Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. He was going to speak, but Cin patted him on his shoulder. "Qui-Gon would be proud."

Obi-Wan's smile fell and was replaced by a childish look of exultation. Cin gave a reassuring nod before amending: "Well… proud, and also rather jealous."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Jealous, master?"

"Mace and Qui-Gon were good friends, you remember. They were both fantastic swordsmen since knighthood. But, try as he might, Qui-Gon could never best Mace in a fight."

This contradicted everything that Obi-Wan knew. "But… I saw Master Qui-Gon defeat Master Windu dozens of times," he insisted, recalling the memories to mind. As a padawan, he had often watched his master duel others to observe and learn. Mace had featured prominently among these sessions, due in part to his friendship with Qui-Gon.

Cin Drallig smiled as though this were the pinnacle of amusement. "Yes, well… A word, Kenobi, about your old master… he wanted to impress you just as much as you wanted to impress him." A twinkle in his eye. "Master Windu knew this."

Pieces fell into place. Obi-Wan's eyes widened. " _No,"_ he breathed. Master Drallig chuckled darkly.

"Oh, yes." His face was all teeth and laughter lines. "Your master paid me handsomely for my confidence in the matter – got him teaching in the salles every chance I got and he couldn't complain."

"But he…" Obi-Wan was still having trouble believing. "But… _no._ "

"Your gullibility is a credit to your loyalty, but you remember how shameless Qui-Gon was. Mace found it all very amusing."

"And he just… let him _win_? For my sake?"

"For your _master's_ sake. Especially at the beginning – you two had a rough start, I remember." He paused to let this sink in. "Despite their many disagreements they were close friends. But you may rest assured that when your own impressionable eyes were averted, our dear Master of the Order royally trounced Qui-Gon Jinn."

Obi-Wan had no ready reply. An indignant curse rising in his throat, he wished very much that Qui-Gon was still alive if only so he could tease him relentlessly. Master Drallig picked up on the impulse and laughed.

"You find yourself in very sparse company, Master Kenobi," he inclined his head. "Even I have only ever bested Master Windu once, and with help." He smiled when Obi-Wan's eyes snapped up, wide and alarmed. "I would love to have you in to teach one afternoon. After that display, Soresu is going to be back in vogue, I guarantee. I could use your experience – and those ridiculous Ataru acrobatics of yours, too. Have you considered developing your own variant of the form?"

The flattery was too much. "Master Drallig," Obi-Wan flustered, "I really don't think that _one singular_ victory merits any of-"

"It won't be just one victory when I tell the initiates," the battlemaster grinned impishly, crossing his arms in a firm stance. "Why, when they hear that their visiting instructor has defeated Master Windu not once, but _three times,"_

"Now wait a moment-"

"No, _four times,"_

"Cin, that's incredibly unfair-"

"Perhaps even _five?_ I know the _female_ initiates hardly need any convincing these days, but a pretty face does not impress _everyone,"_

"That is _absurd_ on so many-"

" _Seven!_ Why, they will be falling over themselves to become your padawan, mark my words, and I have one or two that I'm _sure_ will give Anakin a run for his ne'er-do-well money."

"Alright!" Obi-Wan put up his hands in an unspoken _solah._ "I'll teach, just… don't lie to the initiates," he said, shaking his head ruefully, glaring a bit. "Absolute fiend."

Cin Drallig laughed merrily. "I learn from my betters, master Kenobi," He gave the other man a pat on the back. "We all learn from our betters." The old swordmaster sauntered out of the dojo. As he left, he tossed back in parting, "I'm sure master Windu would agree with me!"


	5. Grief

"Master Drallig tells me you've been here since eighteenth hour," Jedi Master Mace Windu leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Keeps tight surveillance over his dominion, does he?" Obi-Wan did not open his eyes. "I would never have pegged him as the spying sort."

"Kenobi," Mace said warningly.

The knight in question ignored the Master of the Order. He twirled in the air, lightsaber singing out one, two, three rapid loops around his head. He brought it down and went up on one foot, movements slowed as he passed the 'saber back over his shoulder in a languid arc.

"A sunset kata at this time of day?"

"Sunset wasn't _that_ long ago," Obi-Wan scoffed.

"It's the fourth hour of the morning," Mace informed him.

This time, there was a full stop in Obi-Wan's movements. He resumed with choppy grace. After a moment, he said, "Well, the sun is setting _somewhere_."

Mace sighed. He sometimes forgot how deeply Kenobi's stubbornness ran. He crossed his arms tighter, watching the younger man rush through the kata with arms and legs that wavered in uncertainty. Obi-Wan's face was screwed up in its well-practiced frown, dark bags under his eyes appearing like bruises in the flashing light of his saber. It wasn't right. The man before him was far too clumsy, far too unfocused to be the man he'd watched grow up at Qui-Gon's side.

"Obi-Wan," He said. No response. Obi-Wan continued with his exercise. "Obi-Wan," he called again. Again, no reply. "Knight Kenobi," He said firmly. Obi-Wan faltered and took a calming breath, holding his wide ready stance.

"Is there something you want, Master Windu?" Obi-Wan finally opened his eyes. He stopped short of another cutting remark when he was greeted by a rare expression of worry on Mace Windu's Korun face. Their eyes met.

"What are you doing, Obi-Wan?" Mace asked him. The gentleness of the query made Obi-Wan's jaw clench in irritation.

"Training," He said, as if this were self-explanatory. "Soresu."

 _Very sloppy Soresu,_ Mace thought privately. He was not sure which was the greater tragedy; to see his best friend's padawan in such a state, or to see his best friend's saber making such sloppy turns at said padawan's behest. Taken together, the tragedies were a dire sum. "Your focus was Ataru, I thought," the councilor prodded the beast.

"Form IV is weak on its own," Obi-Wan snapped. Mace's frown deepened as waves of anger fell off the man. Obi-Wan paused to center himself - or attempt to - and began a new kata. "I am merely seeking to learn, Master Windu." And that was true. _But,_ Mace thought, glancing again at Obi-Wan's shaking hands, his bloodshot eyes, _there is no learning taking place here._

"Be that as it may... you need rest, Obi-Wan."

The younger let out a breathy chuckle. "Nothing is keeping me here, Master Windu. I'm not tired. I'll retire when I'm ready, I promise you." he must've ignored the exhausted crack in his voice just as much as his visitor did. Mace remained unimpressed.

"You've been here _for ten hours_. And don't tell me it's been meditation, you've dueled half the temple today."

"Did master Drallig tell you that _too?"_ Obi-Wan spat venomously.

Mace squared his jaw. Even for a knight in exhaustion, there were limits. "That is _enough,_ Kenobi." the master unclipped his saber. "You seek to learn, let me teach you a lesson." He gave the boy exactly four seconds to catch on before he attacked.

The duel was extremely, pathetically short. There were too many holes in Obi-Wan's defense to call it weak. It was nonexistent _._ Uncharacteristic of him, the ginger-haired knight let out loud _kiai_ with each blow, shouts to accentuate the humming of his wobbling weapon. It turned into a hiss when Mace's saber hit him across the back of his hand. He continued on valiantly, but he was crumbling. His dark, sunken eyes looked even worse when illuminated by Mace's violet blade. The Korun master decided to put him out of his misery.

With a step and a flick of the wrist, Mace sent Obi-Wan's secondhand lightsaber skittering across the floor. Obi-Wan himself stumbled backward and hit the dojo wall with a thud before sliding to a seat on the floor. Master Windu summoned Qui-Gon's old saber to his hand.

"Solah," Obi-Wan said, panting. "Well done, Master Windu. Perhaps you would allow me the best of three?"

"Stay down, Kenobi," Mace lowered his blade to Obi-Wan's collarbone. "This ends _now."_

Obi-Wan was too tired to look surprised, so he affected indifference. "Master Windu, I am merely seeking to _learn_ ,"

"The damned nine hells you are!" Mace's Vaapad focus pulled in dark tendrils that lent him a righteous anger, voice ringing off the walls and the polished wooden floor. "You're _killing_ yourself. You are shaming your training, shaming the name of your master."

 _That_ hit a nerve. "I would _never,"_ Obi-Wan growled, voice low and deadly.

"You already have," Mace goaded, pressing hard against the festering wound that needed to heal. "Qui-Gon Jinn would never sink so low."

With a furious shout, Obi-Wan leaped up and lunged, ignoring the blades still hovering by his chest. He grabbed at Mace's hands, trying to push and redirect the blades in a last-ditch burst of desperation. The older jedi deflected the feeble attempt with ease, turned, and kicked Obi-Wan hard in the gut. The knight flew across the room, hit the wall, and fell doubled over to the floor. Mace disengaged both 'sabers with a loud hiss, and the dojo was suddenly dark.

Security lights filtered in from the hall and caught on Obi-Wan's hair; shining auburn still cropped short, nerftail untied, a singe-tipped gap behind his right ear. Mace felt the unfamiliar, heavy weight of Qui-Gon's lightsaber in his hands. He sighed.

As Mace approached Obi-Wan glared up at him, a dozen choice words forming on the back of his throat for the moment when he caught his breath and could tell this man _exactly_ what he would shame that night-

"Do not say anything you will regret, Knight Kenobi," Mace warned him. With a pained force of will, Obi-Wan snarled but held his tongue. He wrapped an arm protectively around his middle, making no move to rise. Mace wondered, a touch guiltily, if his kick had broken ribs. _Serves him right,_ a part of him thought. _Might be what he needs to get it through his thick skull._

Dark-eyed, exhausted, in pain, and shamefully aware of how he'd lost his temper, Obi-Wan said nothing as Mace crouched in front of him. The master said nothing at first, dark eyes boring through Obi-Wan's defenses as the younger man cooled down, exhaustion overtaking anger. At length, he broke the silence:

"Obi-Wan," the gentle tone of before was back, and Obi-Wan could not meet his gaze. A hand on his shoulder. "No amount of this will bring him back. You know that."

Cornered at last after a long campaign, Obi-Wan gave in. His face transformed in an instant, and he tucked his chin against his chest as a single, unrestrainable sob escaped him. Mace did not let go of his shoulder. Later, Obi-Wan would be grateful that the dojo had been so dark at the fourth hour. He was a jedi. He had only cried, truly _sobbed_ in front of a handful of people; Qui-Gon had been one, his crèche master another. But certainly never, _ever_ the Master of the Order.

As the Knight shuddered and fought to cling to the tatters of his dignity, he couldn't see Master Windu's tired, sympathetic expression.

"I miss him too, Kenobi," the master said eventually, and Obi-Wan had to bring up both hands to his face to stifle the emotion. "But this is not the way to carry his memory. You know that."

Obi-Wan nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to anything more.

They stayed like that, Obi-Wan with his face in his hands, hiccupping and sniffling stiffly in exhaustion, Mace kneeling beside him, hand solid on his shoulder. After a long while, Obi-Wan pulled his hands down his face and rubbed at his temples. If he had to pass a sleeve over his eyes and sniff noisily, Mace would respectfully forget the occasion. He stood. He pressed Qui-Gon's saber into Obi-Wan's hand. The knight looked at it with eyes burnt out, soul aching.

"Come," Mace said, quietly. "I'll make us tea."

Obi-Wan did not see Cin Drallig waiting by the door or his worried expression as the two left the otherwise abandoned dojo levels. Mace put a hand on his companion's back and nodded at the temple's battlemaster. Master Drallig gave a taught smile in return, worry abated but not gone. It was hard watching the trials of life dim such talent. But… in time. He turned away to begin his route to his bed. Mace Windu and Obi-Wan Kenobi continued down the Temple's halls in utter silence. The turbolift repulsors were loud in the desolate night.

"Thank you, Master Windu," Obi-Wan said in a tired voice, once he'd found his precarious center, the eye of a massive storm. "I will meditate on what you have said."

"Not tonight," the Korun instructed, opening the door to his personal quarters and moving toward the stove. "Just tea tonight. Then sleep." After a moment's work, he brought an old ceramic pot to the low dining table and a familiar aroma hit Obi-Wan's senses; sapir – one of Qui-Gon's favorites. His throat constricted. "Tea and sleep," Mace repeated as he poured their portions, "in times like these, this is the best mediation that the Force can offer." Simple wisdom. A proffered bowl. "Rest, Kenobi."

He did. He didn't realize he had tears on his face until after he finished his tea, after Mace had escorted him all the way back to his chambers, after the door slid shut and left him alone.

Obi-Wan fell into his old apprentice-sized bed, still not ready to move into the room that had once been his master's. That would come tomorrow. Learning Soresu would come tomorrow. Meditation would come tomorrow. But for tonight… Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, and drifted toward sleep. Tonight, he would mourn, and rest, and let himself go. He would awake tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better - if only one small, painful bit at a time.

Obi-Wan slept. For a few blessed hours, there was no tomorrow, there was only the Force.


	6. Diplomacy

For the Jedi, who roamed the length of the galaxy and all of its disparate worlds in the regular course of duty, it was an occupational hazard. These things just happened, sometimes.

Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, not yet possessing the sixteen standard years of life that Ottabeskian culture deemed necessary for males to participate in high society, had spent most of the day in the ambassadorial guest suite doing homework. Because of this, he had not yet the opportunity to sample the finer local cuisine. His master, on the other hand, had spent a long four hours dining and conversing with the prime minister and his cabinet. Obi-Wan had been miffed about this demeaning situation all day, but knew better than to indulge his irritation. After all, these astronavigation problems weren't going to solve themselves - a logical conclusion to which he'd arrived only after ignoring them for the entire trip here. He'd managed this procrastinatory feat by reading their mission briefing and appending documents a full three times.

Once he'd finished with his calculations, or most of them, Obi-Wan set down his data pad with a terse sigh. A faint sense of unease had been festering in the back of his mind all afternoon, a general sense of _off_ ness that filed itself into the young man's mental taxonomy as "a bad feeling". He tried now to mention it to Qui-Gon mentally, but the older man brushed him off, shields tight. Obi-Wan frowned at the uncharacteristic brusqueness and wondered if something were wrong. This was a routine diplomatic mission in an upstanding republic world. Surely nothing could've… _happened_. Surely. He looked out the large wall of windows to the bustling cityscape below, a veritable picture of peace and prosperity. Ottabesk was a beautiful planet, and the afternoon sun painted the cityscape in idyllic colors. And yet… somewhere… _something_ was wrong. He could sense it.

Bad feelings can wreak havoc on any fourteen year old with enough imagination, and as Qui-Gon was fond of lamenting, his apprentice had a double helping. So after about ten minutes of vivid abstraction, Obi-Wan took his master's strict instructs to stay put and tossed them out the proverbial window. He consulted the building's floorpan, donned his cloak, and went looking for Qui-Gon in person. Master Jinn would know what was wrong. Obi-Wan followed his bad feeling right up to the doorway of the banquet hall. As if it had been waiting for the young Jedi to arrive, the door slid open, revealing the Prime Minister, Qui-Gon, and half a dozen others. They slowly filed out, and Qui-Gon caught his eye. Obi-Wan was surprised to find that his master did not look angry with him - in fact, he looked _relieved_.

"Ah, young master Jedi," the minister smiled patronizingly down at him, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to glower. Until he was sixteen, on this world he was considered little more than an infant. _He means well,_ Obi-wan told himself. _Release it into the Force._ _Diplomacy. Diplomacy._

"Prime Minister, sir," he bowed at the waist.

"Is there something you need, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, voice drawn taught in… what? Obi-Wan only barely kept himself from frowning. Jedi stoicism did not preclude the cues of body language, and Obi-Wan knew his master's subtle mannerisms well enough to know that something was definitely wrong. But he was here to be _diplomatic._

"No, master. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Are you _sure,_ Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon added the smallest of Force suggestions to the words, just to make himself clear. "You seem distressed."

Well, he was _now_. "Well…" he said, glancing at the Prime Minister, who was doubtless aloof to the silent communication, but would probably become wary if he suspected something amiss. Obi-Wan trained his features into a placid expression. "I wondered if I might speak with you alone, master," He improvised, "I was filling out my report, and had some questions."

It was a lame excuse, but Qui-Gon leaped at it. "Of course," the older man said. "Prime Minister, if you will excuse me?"

"Of course, master Jinn, of course. A most productive meal, we will have to continue our discussion later."

"As you say, minister," Qui-Gon bowed slightly and took his leave just a few beats more quickly than he was wont to. Subtle to the untrained eye, but it set off alarms in Obi-Wan's mind. He fell into place two steps behind his master's right side. Qui-Gon's shields dropped slightly, and the bad feeling resurged with a vengeance.

As soon as they were out of sight of the minister, Qui-Gon's step slowed and his shoulders drooped, hand pressing against his sternum. "Obi-Wan," He summoned, raising his right arm up. Obi-Wan went forward quickly, putting his shoulders up under his master's arm. Qui-Gon had to slump to rest any weight on his still-growing apprentice.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked in alarm. Qui-Gon huffed weakly.

"Damn Ottabeskian fare," He said, rare vulgarity sneaking its way into his tone. "I've not had food poisoning this bad in years."

Obi-Wan knew this was not the place to ask. He moved them as quickly as he could to their quarters. He touched Qui-Gon's hand when he removed the man's arm from his shoulders and frowned at how pink it was. "Master, you're burning."

"Yes, I've a medium grade fever, I think." Qui-Gon said, lowering himself onto the sofa. Obi-Wan's face grew more alarmed. A medium grade fever for _food poisoning?_

"You need a healer," the apprentice decided.

"I _need_ to purge this malady into the Force and continue the negotiations this evening. If we do not have this trade agreement sorted and signed by tomorrow morning, we are going to be stuck here for another week."

"Then surely we can find a healer who can-"

"A Jedi needs no ally but the Force itself, Padawan."

"That's not what you said last time _I_ was dying."

"I'm not dying, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, sliding off the couch and into a strained meditation pose. He was leaned slightly over his abdomen, and his face twitched uncomfortably as he forced his spine straight. "I'll be fine. Let us just hope that no one calls on me until dinner - late dinner."

" _Master."_

Qui-Gon ignored his apprentice's fretting and closed his eyes. After a tranquil few moments, he exhaled in pain and bent further over himself.

"Do you… do you need something, master? Water, or-"

"Water, yes," Qui-Gon said, eyes still closed. Obi-Wan obeyed quickly and left to fetch a glass. He pressed it into his master's fever-pink hands, face wrought with worry.

It was a mistake. Mere seconds after the master took a tentative swallow, he was forced to stand and make a hasty line for the 'fresher. Obi-Wan stood aside and listened in horror as his master vomited up his lunch. Thus far in his admittedly short apprenticeship to Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan had never seen the man be anything less than indestructible. Qui-Gon was… well, he was _Qui-Gon_. Mortal ills had no business touching him. They were aware this law of nature and kept due distance.

The Jedi master retched again, and Obi-Wan winced in sympathy. Well, this ill, whatever it was, seemed to have missed the memo.

Qui-Gon's comm pinged innocently from the table. Obi-Wan looked at it as if it were an imminent detonator. "Uh… master?" He felt horrible asking _now_ , but…

"Answer it," Qui-Gon said, voice muffled from the other room.

"But I'm not sixteen - you said I'm not supposed to-"

" _Padawan,"_

Obi-Wan looked back at the comm and took a calming breath. _Diplomacy. Diplomacy. He was a Jedi Ambassador. He was_ diplomacy."Kenobi," he answered after the fifth ping.

" _Oh… I'm sorry, I was under the impression this was Master Jinn's frequency?"_ crooned the Prime Minister on the other end.

"It is, Prime Minister. This is Padawan Kenobi. I apologize for Master Jinn's absence, he is… otherwise occupied at the moment."

" _I see… Well, Padawan Kenobi, may I entrust you to relay a message to your master?"_

Obi-Wan only scowled because there was no one to see it. "Yes, I believe I can manage that," he intoned innocently. Qui-Gon gave him a mental smarting.

" _Splendid. The kitchens have just informed me that dinner will be served precisely at sixth standard in the south dining hall. I have arranged for our guild heads to meet Master Jinn at that time to discuss the trade referendum in more detail."_

Obi-Wan hid his panic well. "I will inform him posthaste."

" _Thank you very much, my boy."_

"I am here to serve, your Grace."

Obi-Wan turned off the com and released his irritation over "boy". He glanced at the chrono on the wall. _Sithspit_. "Master, they want you back for dinner in less than an hour," He said, stepping toward the 'fresher hesitantly. Qui-Gon was no longer bent over sick, but he looked - if possible - worse.

"Very well," it was an ironic phrase when spoken by a man swaying visibly where he stood.

"Master," Obi-Wan fretted again, "Are you _sure_ you're not dying?" The apprentice stepped forward and reached up to touch a livid pink blotch that had begun forming on Qui-Gon's face. "Your fever's gotten worse, I think."

"I was unaware I was training a medical prodigy," Qui-Gon griped to the air, taking a steadying breath. Obi-Wan was frowning deeply and ignored the barb.

"You aren't going to actually go, are you, master?"

"I will do what I must, Obi-Wan."

" _Master,"_ Obi-Wan exclaimed, "You _can't_."

Qui-Gon, who felt like hell but was not in the position of luxury to agree with his apprentice, fixed a stern glare on him instead. "Did the council see fit to pass you through the trials while I've had my back turned? I believe _I_ am the final word on what I can and cannot do, _Padawan."_ He brushed past, pulling his cloak tighter about himself in the midst of a chill.

Suitably chastised but not beaten, Obi-Wan followed, a stern wrinkle in-between his brows. "I have a bad feeling about it, master," He insisted in that serious way of his that was far too mature for a fourteen year old, "I have all day, I tried to tell you."

Qui-Gon had felt bad about blocking the boy, but he'd only done it because he knew Obi-Wan would react… well, like this. "Obi-Wan," he said, guiding himself to a seat, where he could muster dignity without the risk of falling over, "there's nothing to be done about it. I have a duty to fulfill - in this case, dinner."

"And _I_ have a duty to _help_ you, master."

"You have an _oath_ to _obey me_ ," Qui-Gon ground out, tired of this debate. "And I am ordering you in no uncertain terms to _drop it."_

Obi-Wan bit his lip and looked away. Oh, he'd drop it alright. But he was going to drop it on whichever the side of the metaphorical fence proved most conducive to his ends. In any case, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he had the logical high ground. On the one hand, he could breach the social status of his age bracket and politely scandalize the Prime Minister and his cabinet for a brief while. On the other hand, if Qui-Gon were to fall inconveniently sick during dinner, it would not only embarrass the man immensely and spoil their mission, it would also shatter the mystical reputation of the Jedi Order itself - at least on Ottabesk. Obi-Wan nodded to himself. In this, he had a higher calling than his oath of obedience.

In a twisted assist to his scheme, Qui-Gon chose that moment to become sick again, and was thus too preoccupied to notice when Obi-Wan left their quarters.

Finding the Prime Minister was not difficult. Obi-Wan retraced his steps first to the banquet hall, and then down the corridor into the audience chambers until he found the minister's retinue standing guard by a well-appointed office. Fourteen he may have been, but Obi-Wan's distinctive robes and lightsaber granted him passage past this gauntlet of curiosity with no contest. He knocked at the doorframe. The prime minister looked up from his work and regarded the youth with some surprise.

"Padawan Kenobi," He said. "Are you lost, my boy?"

Now in public, Obi-Wan's irritation was under perfect control. "No, Prime Minister," He bowed low, lower than was usually dictated by this man's station. No harm to be _too_ polite. "I apologize for the breach in conduct, but I must speak with you."

"I… don't understand," the elder man said, his brain struggling to comprehend the phenomena of a sub-sixteen standard human in his office attempting to have an adult conversation. Obi-Wan picked up on the problem and tried to stand taller. Curse his genetics for making him so damned _small._ It seemed to do little help. "Is Master Jinn with you?"

"No, that is just it, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan told the minister. "I must inform you that Master Jinn has fallen ill."

"Oh, that's terrible, I'm so sorry, I…" a horrible thought occurred. "It wasn't something he _ate,_ was it?" the minister looked appauled. Obi-Wan decided to save face.

"No, sir, not at all," _except yes, entirely,_ "I'm afraid this is an illness he's been battling for a few weeks now come to resurface." Qui-Gon would either be inordinately disturbed or inordinately proud at how smoothly the bluff flowed off his padawan's tongue. "It is nothing serious, but he will want to see a healer, if it is possible, sir."

"Of course, I'll send a medical unit right away." He recovered in the way that only politicians can and smiled in that patronizing way. "I trust a hypospray or two will set him to rights for this evening?"

Obi-Wan could save face, but he couldn't shift reality. "I'm afraid, Prime Minister, that it is rather worse than that… Master Jinn will not be able to attend the negotiations at dinner this evening."

The head of state seemed taken aback by this. "B-but… we've already had everyone assembled - the food is being prepared as we speak."

"Yes, sir, I understand. Which is why he has sent me to attend the function in his stead."

The man could not stop from choking a bit when he said, "Y- _you?"_

"Yes, sir. He profoundly apologizes for the inconvenience, and I for my lack of age and experience," He bowed deep once more, not even bothering to point out that the ridiculous societal age rules here were not universal, "but I assure you that I am well-versed in matters of state, and have extensive understanding of your pending referendum." He did not specify that this happy coincidence was the result of his own distaste for astronavigation.

"But…" the minister could not overcome his social upbringing. "Surely we ought to wait for Master Jinn to recover…" he said, vaguely.

Obi-Wan proceeded in a reassuring and mature voice, "My master has assured me that both the Ottabeskian government as well as the Galactic Senate wish to ratify this agreement as expeditiously as possible. Like my master, I was sent here at behest of the Republic to ensure such an outcome to the best of my ability. And," Obi-Wan inclined his head, "inasmuch as I am Master Jinn's apprentice, I am bound to aid him in this mission in any way required of me. In this case, to speak in his stead."

The Prime Minister had nothing to say for a moment, and in that moment, it occurred to Obi-Wan that he may have just scandalized the premiere of a wealthy, powerful world premiere to the point of creating what master Mace Windu would call _"a problem"._ But thankfully, the grey-haired man at the desk smiled nervously at him, not _quite_ so patronizing as before, and said,

"Very well, Padawan Kenobi."

* * *

Qui-Gon was waiting for him when the dinner was over - notwithstanding that it was close to midnight.

"Master Jinn!" the Prime Minister smiled widely. "So good to see you well - Jedi constitutions favor quick recoveries, I see."

"Indeed they do," Qui-Gon nodded in thanks. He eyed Obi-Wan with a subtle glare. "I hope my _apprentice_ has been salutary to the evening's proceedings?"

"Oh yes, master Jedi!" and despite the hours of masterly indignation he'd kept steeping inside, Qui-Gon feel a pang of pride. "I daresay the Jedi curriculum must be exhaustive indeed to imbibe one so _young_ with such diplomatic savvy."

Qui-Gon gave a slight bow of thanks. "Obi-Wan has always had a gift for _diplomacy,"_ He agreed with an acid edge. _Craftiness and blatant insubordination, in point of fact,_ He thought at his padawan. The padawan blinked innocently up at him.

"I merely reflect my master's wise teaching," He said humbly. He did not smile, but the spots on his cheeks where his dimples would go quivered in deceit. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes slightly. _Brat._

The Prime Minister smiled, treading happily above the nuances of Jedi-to-Jedi communication. "Well said, Padawan Kenobi. I have no doubt that, thanks to Master Jinn and yourself, the guild masters will sign, and by tomorrow we can finally ratify the bill and send the final copy back with you to Coruscant. I am in debt to you both."

"We come to serve, your grace," they bowed. Qui-Gon glared padawan-ways on his way down, and Obi-Wan pretended not to notice.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Qui-Gon awoke to the sound of Obi-Wan turning out his guts in the 'fresher. He pulled off his covers and went to stand against the doorframe where he could observe his apprentice's misery. "I had been wondering what sort of punishment I ought to dole out for today's heroic insolence," he said, and Obi-Wan could not turn to look for risk of making a mess, "but in this case I see fate is far more poetic than I."

"Uuughn," was the heartfelt reply. "What do they _cook_ with? Radioactive _sludge?"_

"Only in small portions, I am sure," Qui-Gon reassured him. He stepped away and fetched a glass of water. Extreme disobedience or not, Obi-Wan had done well that day, and Qui-Gon would not revel in his charge's suffering. "Here," He pressed the drink into Obi-Wan's hand. "Clean yourself up and come out here, when you can. By the will of the Force, the med droid has stuck around for my sake. It will have something to ease your nausea."

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully. A few moments later he flushed away the last remnants of his dinner and shuffled into the main quarters, arms staying around his stomach. Qui-Gon activated the fussy med droid, and it went to work on its newest patient. Obi-Wan scowled at it as it poked and prodded, but was too tired to tell it off.

"May this be a lesson to you," Qui-Gon said, folding hands into opposite sleeves of his rumpled tunics, "if you really _must_ disobey a direct order, be sure to factor in all of the possible negative outcomes before you make your decision."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said miserably, rubbing the spot on his neck where the droid had slammed a hypospray. He curled in on himself and yanked his hood over his face.

"Also," Qui-Gon added, expression grave, "if ever a dignitary invites you to diplomatics observed over a five course meal, do your damnedest to talk them out of it."

Obi-Wan laughed weakly at this, abs still weak from his latest lesson. "Yes, master."

But, in the end, they were Jedi. It was just an occupational hazard.


	7. Imparted Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been bogged down by Reprise recently, so I thought it was time for a light-hearted oneshot.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, senior Jedi padawan and acting senatorial escort, picked his way through the meandering partygoers to stand at Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn's elbow.

"Master?"

"Hmm?"

"We have a problem."

Qui-Gon betrayed no reaction, but tilted his head slightly toward his apprentice in attendance. "What kind of problem?" He glanced over his shoulder briefly and frowned. "What have you done with the senator?"

Obi-Wan winced. "That's just it. I'm afraid someone is trying to assassinate her."

"And you _left her alone?"_

In an uncharacteristic show of frustration, Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "It's not like that – someone offered her a drink. Tea. She doesn't like tea, or so she said. She gave it to me. I drank it."

Qui-Gon was frowning, half at the explanation and half and his apprentice's unusual behavior and clipped tone. "And from this you learned that someone wants her dead?"

"It's been laced with toxins. I can tell." As if on cue, Obi-Wan wavered on his feet. His master frowned.

"What kind of toxins? Obi-Wan, stop staring at the Prime Minister."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan blinked and struggled to point his eyes in a Qui-Gon-ish direction. "That's another problem. I've completely lost my vision."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose. He noticed a flicker in the Force and turned to eye a footman who was looking a bit too attentive to the Jedi's presence. He touched Obi-Wan's arm and led him away. "Do you need medical attention?"

"Not desperately, no," which seemed a farce considering the sweaty, greenish gleam on his face. "I'm fairly sure of the toxin – it's called gamoran methanal. I've been learning about it in Master Trollack's class."

Qui-Gon took a moment to frown. "Trollack? Didn't you take his class last quarter?"

Obi-Wan would've blushed, but under the circumstances he could only sigh and lick sweat from his lip. "Yes, I did. I failed it. You gave me quite the ear lashing about it."

"Did I?" Qui-Gon hated getting old. "I suppose I must've. What does this toxin do?"

"Well normally it…" Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and took a steadying breath. " _Normally_ this amount would kill a person, if they're small enough, and incapacitate just about anyone. Thankfully the Force is a powerful ally- _ugh,"_ He shook his head. "Most of the time, _chssk."_

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon scolded, only because they were in public.

"Sorry, Master. I'll live, but I estimate that I only have about a minute before I lose consciousness." He had to take another deep breath. "Or less."

"Right," Qui-Gon said, repressing his own emotions to adopt a businesslike tone. "Then you have that amount of time to tell me whatever you know about this assassin. Who gave Senator Lanaley her tea?"

"A human. Female. Dark hair. Blue stained lips. Shortish."

Qui-Gon cast his eyes about the room above Obi-Wan's head, looking for any sign of such a figure. Obi-Wan reached out to grab Qui-Gon's arm; whether for attention or support it was unclear.

"It's not- I don't think she's the assassin, master."

"Why do you say that?"

"This toxin, it's an organic derivative of a plant grown exclusively on – _sweet Force,_ " He gripped his master's arm a bit harder as the toxin tore down his nerves. "on _Felucia,"_ He ground out. "And if I'm not mistaken, not only is a delegation of Felucians present today, senator Lanaley was the spearhead for a bill that defunded the Felucian herbal exports program last month. They'll want… want…" Now, he was holding on Qui-Gon's arm purely for support. "Revenge. Damn, this is working much faster than I'd anticipated."

"Alright," Qui-Gon said, holding Obi-Wan's arm firm with on hand and tossing up the apprentice's hood with the other. "No need to make a show of it. This way." Stiffly, suggesting through the Force that others avert their eyes, Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan over to a bench where he could lean up against the wall. The apprentice blinked at involuntary tears as he sat.

"Kriffing sith chssk _hell,"_ he hissed under his breath. Qui-Gon would've laughed at the very un-Obi-Wan-like outburst if he hadn't said it with such vehemence.

"I'll take care of it, padawan, let go."

"But master, we're in _public."_

"Yes, and you're going to end up unconscious whether you wish it or not, so I suggest getting comfortable and taking it on your own terms."

Obi-Wan sighed and did as he was told. He slumped over moments later. Qui-Gon sighed. "Good man," he whispered, and made sure that his cloak was arranged so it might appear that the Jedi was merely taking a respite. When he turned around, a pettish old woman was watching him. She had obviously seen the proceedings, and now lifted a sharply penciled eyebrow. Qui-Gon took on an exasperated expression.

"Youth," He accused in a surly tone. "They don't know when to stop."

The old woman frowned with stern, thin lips and eyed the reprobate. As much as she'd seen in life, she was unsurprised that Jedi were no less immune to worldly vices as anyone. She shrugged and went back to her cigarette.

With Obi-Wan unaware of his newly tainted reputation and undue attention averted, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the room. In short order, he spotted the Felucian delegation bundled in one corner by the bar. Stopping briefly by the door to collect a security detail, the Jedi Master went to work.

* * *

When Obi-Wan woke up, he was still sitting leaned against the wall in the ballroom, but without all of the people he hardly recognized it. He was still frowning at the faux wood molding when a medical droid noticed he was awake and began scanning him. He brushed it away. "Force," He palmed his head which throbbed.

Shakily, he stood. Qui-Gon was at the other end of the room, and Obi-Wan made it his goal to trek so far.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon seemed genuinely pleased. "I'm surprised to see you standing. MD-48 says you were dosed halfway to oblivion."

"Thirty mililitres, to be precise," the droid reported.

"Huh," Obi-Wan croaked, eyes squinting. "Is the senator alight?"

"Yes, quite so. The Felucians will stand trial here on Carida. Timely of them to make an attempt the last day of the summit. Our mission is at a close," The master smiled.

"Hmm," the apprentice said in far less enthusiastic tones. His mind was swirling in tar trying to catch up. Before he could register any of what Qui-Gon had said, Senator Lanaley, who'd been speaking with security, saw that the young Jedi was awake.

"Oh! You're up, thank the dieties!" She rushed over. "I would be dead were it not for you, master Jedi," she was all smiles as she threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you!" She pulled his head down and placed a kiss on either cheek.

Obi-Wan was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of gravity, much less the sensation of a kiss. "Not a master," he grumbled reactionarily, and after a moment of thought, "come to serve."

Qui-Gon snorted softly. A Jedi through and through. "If you'll excuse us, Senator, we'd best be going."

"Of course, Master Jinn. Thank you so much for your assistance today," she went over and gave him a kiss as well, which he took far more graciously than his indisposed apprentice. "Safe travels."

"You as well, senator."

Qui-Gon led his bleary-eyed padawan to the loading dock. "You have something, just here," the master informed stoically, gesturing to his cheek. Obi-Wan frowned and wiped red lipstick from his face. He looked at his stained fingers in confused alarm.

"Is this _blood_?" He asked the air. Qui-Gon laughed.

"Let's just get you home," He said, and wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders to lead the unstable, hungover padawan up the ramp.

* * *

Thankfully, the effects of the toxins had worn off by that evening, allowing Obi-Wan to be his usual taciturn self when they made their initial report to a shimmery blue visage of Mace Windu.

" _Gamoran methanal?"_ The councilor repeated, unusual surprise in his voice. _"I've never heard of it. Well done, Kenobi. I would appreciate your full report on the matter."_ Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile at the praise. Obi-Wan was nearly grown, and it was gratifying to see the evidence of his abilities. Another evidence was the boy's obliviousness to his own gifts. Case in point: Obi-Wan merely bowed to the hologram, not noticing the accomplishment.

"Of course, Master Windu."

The korun turned his attention back to the master. _"Master Jinn, The council will be in contact with the Caridan courts once the trial date is set. Be forewarned they will likely ask for your statement."_

"Of course."

Mace shuffled through his notes. Eventually, with the business resolved, he frowned and looked back into the transmitter. " _One thing puzzles me, Padawan Kenobi,"_ he frowned, _"why did you drink something offered to the senator?"_

"I believe I mentioned, Senator Lanaley harbors an aversion to tea. Once the pleasantries of the offering were past, she gave it to me."

" _Did she instruct you to drink it?"_

"No, master."

" _You know of course, it is below decorum to partake of someone else' drink – even if it is offered to you."_

"…Yes, Master."

Mace watched him. _"I do not discredit you for it, Padawan, it likely saved her life. But why?"_

Qui-Gon was now watching his apprentice with interest as well. He hadn't even though of it, but it _was_ a move far outside of polite behavior, and Obi-Wan was, if nothing else, shaping up to be a true aficionado of gentility.

The aficionado shuffled uncomfortably between the two masters' curious eyes. "It… He hesitated, blushing pink. "…it would've been a waste of perfectly good tea, Master," He explained guilelessly. As an afterthought, "…aside form the toxins, it was a very fine roast of kopi leaf."

There was an amused silence, betrayed by nary a smile. _"…aside from the toxins, of course."_ Mace echoed in perfect deadpan.

"Yes," the padawan replied seriously.

Beside Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon's mustache twitched upward, just for a second. Mace's holographic eyes swiveled to eye his old friend in a knowing light. Master Jinn's countenance shone with unabashed pride.

" _As you say, Padawan."_ Mace said at length. He glanced to the side, somewhere out of frame. _"I must go, Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi. Contact me when you land – and please take Padawan Kenobi to Master Che's office to update his records. I'm sure she'll want to make sure all of this gamoran methanal is well and truly gone."_

"Of course, Mace."

" _May the Force be with you both."_

They bowed. Once the holo was terminated, Qui-Gon cast a sly look at his companion.

"A waste of good tea?" he asked, now not bothering to hide his smile.

Obi-Wan shrugged defensively, trying to formulate a dignified response but losing it on the tip of his tongue. Qui-Gon's laugh warmed the cold of hyperspace. "You grow in wisdom every day, Obi-Wan," He smiled, putting an arm around the man's shoulders so he could pull on his learner's braid (he wondered how much longer he'd have the privilege to do that) and ruffle his hair. "I've taught you well."

Obi-Wan smiled, not ducking away from the rough affection. "Everything I know."


	8. Rainy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt filled on tumblr. A nice breather from the craziness of final projects!

Nim Drovis was an incredibly _moist_ planet. It was not merely humid. It had taken its humidity and fermented it into a new physical state, an indelible and squelching _something_ that can only be adequately encapsulated in the involuntary repulsive flinch elicited by the sound of the word _moist._

And that, thought Obi-Wan Kenobi beneath his eighteen-year-old scowl, was on the best of days.

Running through his mental archive of more fanciful vocabulary, as he had a tendency to do when he was bored or brooding, Obi-Wan decided that _deluge_ was a fitting word for the carnage raging outside. Lightning cracked above in a blinding flash, and if not for his Jedi sense of calm, the percussion would've made Obi-Wan jump.

Beside him, Qui-Gon shifted. Obi-Wan hugged his knees closer to his chest, discretely covering his nose with the edge of a damp sleeve. Humidity had the tendency to amplify the human olfactory senses, and it must be said that neither Obi-Wan nor his master had had opportunity to wash in the past week.

In the age of supralight travel, it was easy to forget how miserable it could be to travel by foot. How instructional then, for the Force to remind them of their privilege when it allowed their ship to malfunction and crash land into the middle-of-bleeding-hels-nowheresville.

"This is not a very large cave," observed Qui-Gon, who was attempting to stretch his aching legs and finding that the curvature of the muddy alcove could not accomodate their length.

Obi-Wan did not look at him as he said into his sleeve, "It would help if you were not such a very large man."

Qui-Gon glared at him. It was a testament to the intensity of Obi-Wan's ill humor when the padawan made no reaction whatsoever.

"Hmm," replied the Jedi master, in one syllable communicating both understanding and a promise of retribution. "A short walk, then." He crouched in order to shuffle to the outside. "It will be nice to feel the rain."

Obi-Wan's scowl turned slightly to pin incredulous ginger eyebrows on his master. His aristocratic corebred accent made his next question sound just as reproachful as he felt: "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to go out and feel the rain?"

"It is not cold." Qui-Gon said, as if this explained his entire rationale. He stepped out into the downpour and was immediately drenched. He smiled at his apprentice through the rain, having to raise his voice over the roar. "You ought to come too. You smell awful."

Obi-Wan scoffed at that. He sniffed disdainfully, which dragged in a lungful of putrid, muddy, _moist_ air. Wafting in from the air tossed in Qui-Gon's wake, he could smell sweet curls of ozone. Lightning cracked above, illuminating Qui-Gon's tall figure already some metres away from the opening of the cave.

"Kriff it," Obi-Wan said, only because his master was not there to hear him, "Kriff it all, kriff it to hels and back." He hit his head on the way up and cursed again, shuffling sideways like a soggy, be-robed crab until he met with a wall of water.

He couldn't help it when the feel of it made him gasp, but he shook it off and continued on. Water poured on him as if from all sides, buffeting his hair and his shoulders, snaking down his back and into his boots, warm rivulets streaming down his hands and off his fingers, leaving webbed paths of clear skin where they carved away the grime.

It felt _nice._

As if sensing this realization, Qui-Gon let out a laugh. "You look a sight, Obi-Wan!" He called from up ahead. Obi-Wan looked up at him and forced himself to not smile. He marched to catch up with his master.

"Your hair looks like a drowned lothcat," He deadpanned. "It's got mud all in it."

"Oh, has it?" Qui-Gon asked, and reached down to gather a handful of watery mud. He slapped it on Obi-Wan's hair and smiled as it dripped down his braid. Obi-Wan stood frozen in place, aghast. "You've got a bit in yours as well," said Qui-Gon.

"Why you…" Obi-Wan wiped it off his head and flung it at his master, who gave a retaliatory force-wave of water and debris at Obi-Wan. Lightning flashed above, illuminating their faces as bickering turned into a senseless waterfight. Mud and leaves and bits of marshland flew in time with hands and force-shoves at the two soaking Jedi.

They were both drenched and caked in mud when the rescue shuttle finally found them. Amid the lightning, the floodlights were hard to discern, but it landed close by and opened bay doors to let them in from the rain.

"Masters Jedi!" cried the ho'din crewmember over the rain, "We've been looking everywhere for you! Come inside, quickly!"

"There, you see," smiled the master, whose hair now looked like a very _muddy_ drowned lothcat, "that wasn't so bad, now was it?"

Obi-Wan only shook his head and shoed his master on board impatiently. A fifteen minute bath in muddy rain was hardly a redeeming jewel after a week's trek on foot in a marshland, but then again, the Force worked in mysterious ways.

Despite the mud, they were both smiling.


End file.
